That Awkward Moment when the Doctor was More Human than Rose
by SinkingintheAbyssofFeels
Summary: While planning against the Family of Blood, Rose Tyler works herself ragged to protect the human Doctor, yet fails to protect his most basic human needs. Meanwhile John Smith, far too curious for his own good, stalks Rose to a very familiar, very alien, blue box. Not even a month after they go into hiding. Human Nature/Family of Blood rewrite with Rose.
1. The Mystery of a Woman

Disclaimer: Doctor Who is Play-Doh. I do not own the Play-Doh. It is very fun to mold the Play-Doh. But BBC owns the Play-Doh.

* * *

Damn.

Missed her again.

It's beneath him. Skulking about the halls. But blast it all, that strange, peculiar maid is nothing if ever moving. Skill and wit about her, she sweeps through chores with ease. Delivers his daily meals, and tidy's like the devils at her heels. Efficient. Tight-lipped. Professional.

He would say she avoids him.

Yet she never halts! With all she does she never falters in her tasks. It's near maddening.

But then he catches her unawares.

He keeps hidden, as if coming across a rare creature in the wild, and observes her. And she's off on a dream. Eyes gazing beyond blue skies into supernovas themselves as if contemplating why they burn. A tint of longing building behind caramel eyes. And he wonders if she wishes to touch the stars. Hold them dearly. As if they hurt.

It's times such as these that he's assured no one knows her better than himself. He inherited her after all, and there's a familiarity that nurtures their kinship through this, he's sure. She promised to serve their family forever, and shows that even now as she faithfully follows him here to the small Farringham school, far from her dear mother back home.

Still he must say that there are moments when labels dictate nothing. She breaks the rules as if they were only words, nothing binding keeping her from acting beyond social norms. That maid will waltz into his room. Tired. Irritable. As if he's her escape she may freely impose on. As a school teacher far above her status he should be appalled. No call. No knock. Simply enter, sit, eat, drink, and talk.

Except he cannot find it within himself to mind.

Actually it's quite endearing that she find herself at ease with him. He rocks back in his chair, an amused smile spreading, as she vents. Openly trusting him not to judge her, only understand. And by some strange accounts he can empathize that the entertainment value for a maiden in an all boys school is as dreary as it sounds. In retrospect, what activities can be found in the general area that even he can partake in simply for recreational value? Chess? Despite the mountains of free time the educational staff has after hours, he can never find a good partner, because typically that maid very busy.

"The Matron plays chess." she had told him.

"Does she?" He answered inattentively.

And beyond the simple acknowledgement that the Matron plays, he never took into consideration that he could test the fact. Even after the maid rolled her eyes and told him to ask her for a game. Truthfully he was not interested in discovering the Matrons competitive side.

Games bring new faces out of all people. There are those who become blinded by the goal of victory, those who take every move into consideration, or those that expect a loss. And then there's that mad maid.

Oh she'll tease, but though her honey words are appealing, they sound only of empty promises.

Then when indulging herself the maid will always choose to eat a pear before him, laughing, and the meaning of her humor is beyond his comprehension.

Her radiant smiles reserved for him always teeter on the edge of something special, yet secret. Like an elusive answer in plain sight.

And it's times such as these when she wears a mask specially catered to him that John questions whether he really knows Rose at all.

* * *

A/N

Yes, HN/FoB was all good and emotional in the series. Loved it. But does everyone have to take it so seriously? Not that I don't love the love, but the direction of the drama becomes so much of a repetitive roller coaster that it overshadows a lot of opportunities. So, here's my version. Which I hope will become more of a boat, ship, raft, thing. Nothing's really planned yet, so there's a slight chance of showers ahead.


	2. Patient

Four... five weeks.

Had time passed so swiftly?

A brief glance at the calendar informed him that, yes, it has.

Five weeks since they had arrived, as it neared September's end, Rose fell ill.

He's sure she thought him oblivious, yet he's indeed aware of how often she's left the school grounds. While, contradictorily, has completed her tasks diligently. He's often wondered where she receives this sudden influx of energy every morning. Surely tea, while a caffeinated beverage, could not keep her ready on the dot.

With the chilling weather, he surmises she has come down with a cold or... or the flu. The risk was evident. Still, with all her duties that maid will go off on a wander. Fatigue atop fatigue. Repeatedly to the same route between work. Perhaps a fitness walk? Or -could it be?- to meet someone. The idea itself was a bitter pill to swallow, but upon her reappearance there is always a glow about her. As though freshening up, but if following his assumptions, perhaps an afterglow of-.

He swallowed.

Who would _dare_ court his maid?

John raked his gaze over his rigid students, hands spread wide over the desk, as if to pounce the first sign of guilt. However every one appeared riddled with suspicion. Although they are silently reading, as per his orders, their eyes skip about the room. Licking their lips, finding the exit something delectable.

This is ridiculous. Surely a student would be scandalous for Rose, a maid, to proffer her hand to. Then again, he has never known age to be a matter for her. Or skin for that matter.

Always so friendly, his Rose.

He collapsed into his chair. Time cannot pass slower than here, in his classroom, as Rose lays bedridden mere minutes away.

Curse Jenny. Singing like a bird this morning of it all. Right as John picked up the days lesson, filing the students in, she rushes to him. Feathers fittingly ruffled, breathless and squawking of how Rose fell flat on her face as they were scrubbing the floors only a moment ago. _Right in the filth water, very unbecoming for her lovely appearances._

Needless to say other than her personal opinions of the matter, Jenny rather conveniently, knew nothing of **why** she collapsed.

So, here John waits.

Tapping his fingers. Unbidden images of Rose's features twisted in anguish slided to the forefront of his mind. No hand to hold. John turned to read a personal novel. Ignoring the passage of time. And failing. Feeling impossibly impatient his foot soon joined. The collective sounds bounced off the walls. Whispering in his ear to calm down. He did so with a sigh.

Ten till the end of this session. Releasing the students five minutes early would do no harm. They must only read the remainder of the chapter, and such an assignment can be taken care of during their own time. Right. No harm.

Or he could release them now.

"Class is dismissed!" John announced. And a flood of relief spread like wildfire.

Five... ten. Same difference.

Ever so timidly their shoes dragged across the hardwood floor. Please, _please_, stick a needle in his eye, it would be more bearable.

"No dillydallying," he commanded, herding them through the door. "Off!"

* * *

A/N

That awkward moment when I try to abbreviate my fic name with an acronym, and it comes out just as awkwardly long...

**MissShadowBolt**: Thank you! And as my first reviewer for this fic, I shall aim to please!

**Hediru**: Thanks! The fic's definitely going somewhere, and a bit everywhere, after it goes somewhere through the TARDIS. And we all know how that usually goes.

**LilyMayRose**: Thank you! :) :) :) And okay! :) :) :D

**Anonymous**: Ohh Anonymous, you chose that name, Anon. I like it. Not a guest, but a mystery. Thank you for the review! And thank you for the compliment, I'm flattered you appreciate my 'voice' in this.


	3. She Keeps Walking Away

He dreams of her.

Constantly walking away.

Waking life is no different.

From strolling through the halls to idle chatter, Rose always manages to leave before he wishes her to go. He takes comfort in the fact that everyday he faces, she's still there in his life.

Her presence is a gift only he seems to understand, for the others question the friendly behavior of a teacher and his maid. He would ask if they've ever truly spoken to her to question that, then fears they would take advantage of her kindness if they did. Steal what little time John has with Rose. So, she's his secret.

Yet of all times, it is now he questions that gift.

"Gone!?" John shouted at the Matron.

"Yes. No need to fuss." Matron Redfern reprimanded him. "The girl fainted of exhaustion. To better herself, Rose only requires a bit of bedrest. So when she awoke, I asked she free my bed here in the infirmary by napping in her quarters."

"You sent Rose away," he nearly growled. "Walking, with no energy. Did you at least assign her an escort?"

The Matrons eyes hardened. "Rose assured me she was fine on her own, and Mister Smith considering where you stand, I ask that you leave her as such."

He scoffed, leaving the Matron's warning as if it were dust swept off his shoulder.

John intended to head straight to Rose. Treading the school grounds with an expression that just dared onlookers to stop him.

Then he caught her. Not tucked in bed, but heading down that confounded path on the outskirts of the school grounds. Why? Why why why, would she have a tryst with that pretty boy -whomever he is- when she should be doing anything but!

"ROSE!" John thundered.

Rose hopped from the ground out of fright, stumbling for her footing against a tree.

"M- Mister Smith! I was-" Her eyes widened upon the sight of his ire. "...hello."

"Yes. Hello." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, mock-cordial, as he spoke through clenched teeth. "How are you?"

Rose cleared her throat, pushing from the bark to show she had no use for it. "Gooood," she prolonged the word, perplexed by his words to expression ratio. "Thank you for asking." She curtly bowed her head as if nudging the air between them. "And you, Sir?"

"Oh, I am simply brimming with energy." He enthused. "The evening is quite promising, perfect for a long excursion to fulfill a decent amount of exercise, wouldn't you agree?"

She patted his arm, "take a few laps 'round the school for me," and left.

John took the broad steps necessary to stop before her. "I'd much rather have company."

"Okay."

Still she brushed past. So he repeated the movement.

"Rose, where are you off to?"

"Places."

"Really?" He questioned, breathing deeply to refrain the urge to yell. "And whom, may I ask, is waiting at these _places_?"

Rose looked him square in the eye and blinked. True to her namesake, she bloomed to life with a smile overtaking her lips. And soon she curled into herself laughing. "You think I'm-?" Rose could no longer speak over the joy swallowing her whole. John's fury fled at the sight.

She wiped a tear. "I'm promised as your maid, John, and yours alone. 'Sides, you can't seriously," she waved a circle at the school. "No bloke in this boring little area is even worth fancying, ta."

Anger washed clean, a manly pride within John swelled at her statement. Then as if expecting such an internal reaction Rose nodded, self approval of a job well-done, and began to walk away.

"But where is your destination?" He stopped her, concern coloring his voice a gentler shade. "Surely you cannot find a breath a fresh air meaningful when you must be resting."

"It's not I'm," she bit her lip. "I'll only be a tick. Trust me, that bed has been calling for hours. I don't plan on ignoring it." Over his shoulder she smiled. "Besides Mister Smith, I do believe the Headmaster wants a word with you."

John felt his stomach hit the dirt. The class he released early, of course consequences would follow. He traced Rose's line of sight and saw Headmaster Rocastle moving with purpose toward them. And as John stood frozen, Rose turned away.

Ill at ease by her departure, John called out, "My word still stands, you must rest, Rose!"

To which Rose giggled back, "I am resting. Fetch your own dinner!"

* * *

A/N

Confession. This is my "I'm slacking off" fic. Ya know, if that ingenious title wasn't anything to go by. Haha, I should be doing work...

**Curry**: Thank you! I hope it continues to be so.


	4. Fool Me Once

Rose never lies.

She does, however, offer well crafted excuses.

One morning he had asked, "Rose, where's my biscuit?"

"Ate it." She answered through a mouthful of food.

Although neither of these facts matter, it seems, as Rose is terribly blunt with John.

Be it by personal reasons:

When she entered his room with lunch delivery in hand, John sighed. "How is it I can never find a single pear in this entire school?"

As Rose set up his tea and silverware she said, "I hide them."

Or an answer that's not really an answer at all:

"Rose," he caught her one afternoon in the halls. "I've not questioned it. And there is no time it once pops up as a topic in casual conversation. I cannot help but wonder, however, so I ask now. Where are you going?"

"Out," and she was gone.

Rose's equivocal behavior moves John to the most derisory of actions...

"Mister Smith!" Matron Redfern greeted.

Having hid under the bend of the staircase, John yelped. Scaring the Matron, and more than likely, alerting Rose of his presence.

John's eye locked back on Rose, who he had planned to tail soon, since her chore of scrubbing the floors is near ending. Her last job till dinner, and typically when she exits to that route of hers. Rose smirked at the ground, and John frowned. Had she known he was here?

"In regard to your maid," the Matron whispered. "May I pose a question?"

He stared at said maid a second longer, then faced the Matron. "Yes, you may."

"Well, knowing of her tired state I had offered Rose a cup of tea. To which she accepted and told me _ta_. I scolded her for lack of manners, but the look upon her face as I did has me wondering. She offered no explanation, only apologised. So, I do wish to know if you could confide in me the meaning of her peculiar behavior."

John smirked. "Her family is of lower Britain, Matron. _Ta_ is informal British speech for an expression of gratitude."

"Well, I suppose I was not wrong in my actions then," the Matron huffed. "I will allow no informalities between myself and the help. Though I thank you for enlightening me."

The Matron left John troubled. It puzzles him, for this isn't the first instance that the Matron and Rose have had an issue. Perhaps their personalities clash. As he ponders the idea, they do appear opposite in many ways.

"Evening, Mister Smith," Rose said in passing.

"Yes, evening," he mumbled through thought.

The Matron being an older civilised woman, and Rose a young somewhat wild thing is one way to observe the situation. Then again, he does not know how they act when alone with one another. Because Rose does have a way of subtly pulling ones strings. She can-

John whirled around to the exit. The flutter of Rose's dress swept through the door just before closing at the far end of the hall. Chance!

But first.

So as to not look overly excited -lest the boys witness foolish behavior from their superiors- John tugged at his lapels then briskly headed her way. The game is afoot.

* * *

A/N

Stalker mode: Activate

(Stalker mode? Are there instructions? Does anyone know how to work this thing? *types furiously*)

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Thank you so much for saying so! I was beginning to worry that this was something becoming too ridiculous..


	5. Every Breath You Take

_Crunch._

Ahem... now...

_Crunch crunch crunch._

Blast it all! As colder weather settles, the leaves of the forest fall and dry, creating a hostile environment for silently pursuing Rose.

It is **not** stalking.

One does not stalk one's maid. Especially not one as faithful as Rose. John is worried for her. Yes. Worried. She had collapsed the day before after all...

_Crunch._

Confounded!

A few paces ahead Rose lapsed in her steps. John hid himself behind a tree. Clinging to the bark, and listening intently for her steps to begin again against the noisy ground.

Yet none came.

Surely she would not be so patient with an intruder.

John dared to peek past his haven, but she was gone. Does she walk on air? He heard nothing of her parting!

Having already come too far, John strode on. Embarking on her path blindly, hoping for the best. And the best, apparently, is what he got as he stumbled from the forest onto an old barn. The latch of the door parted, a lock dangling, unhinged from it.

His life answer!

In a barn?

John crept to the opening, allowing his eye to explore its secrets. Yet the darkness inside swallowed everything whole. Well, apart from the most peculiar light.

He could decipher the outline of another entrance facing away from his person, and after a quick check, he confirmed it could not exist. Unless it is another structure. A closet perhaps. Within a barn. Rose must be inside holding a candle for it to be lit so. Ludicrous. Walking all this way to sit inside a closet inside a barn? He knew she was odd, but this is pushing what he would accept.

A closet within a barn. John scratched his head furiously, messing his carefully combed hair. This is the mystery which has plagued him for weeks!?

John tossed the doors out wide. If he must drag her back, revoke her freedom, he will. This must end.

However the wind knocked out of him at the sight. In full light. The closet. It's not a closet at all. The... the... no. He must be dreaming. He approached the object of his fantasy, and found it becoming more of a reality. A daydream. A dream in broad daylight. He never thought he'd see that day.

The magical blue box.

As though it would bite on the wrong move, John reached for it. Cautiously. Tentatively. Wondering if his fingers would pass through the illusion. When it met his touch, he gasped. It _purred_.

His thirst to understand this phenomenon, while unnervingly quenched, did not end there.

John moved around the box to its open doors, and what he saw nearly drove him mad.

* * *

A/N

Oh wow. You're all lovely! Such a sudden influx of reviews. Wrapped this chapter up so I could hurry up and respond. I love the motivation, thank you.

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Thank you! I'm so glad this is entertaining. :)

**GriffinGirl8655**: Yes... :) It was accidental, actually. I was in the middle of the last chapter when I realized, 'oh, I'm having him basically stalk her, aren't I?' And then there was no getting around it. xD Thank you for the review!

**rpicard06**: That's great! I imagine his nose adorably scrunched up like, "...why?" I don't think I've ever seen a fic that takes his 'no pears' to heart, but I haven't read everything. I hope. Thank you for reviewing!

**I Need To Log In**: Hahaha! I can't tell you how much your name made me giggle. Well. This is me. Continuing this. Thank you for, ya know, 'all caps'ing at me to update.

**Wings of Tears**: Oh, you know. Curiosity killed the cat... too soon? No, but it will go well... Weeeelll, I say it'll go well, but -really- eventually it will be fine. Weeelll, I say fine... Ahem. Thank you for the review!

**TheMoment**: Thank you thank you thank you!


	6. Hand in the Cookie Jar

John Smith is a strange thing.

Sure, she'll wait on hand and foot for him, however in her defence she loves him. No, wait. Not John Smith, the man he once was, the Doctor. In a way caring for John Smith is like caring for the Doctor's pet. She'll get him what he needs. Keep him healthy. But she can't see the Doctor's pet as the Doctor.

Rose really shouldn't call him a pet.

John can be so adorable though. It's too easy! She can manipulate him like any typical human bloke. He can get jealous, _Time Lords don't get jealous, Rose_. Flustered by her brash behavior. And the best of it is, he even comes with common manners. It's like seeing a new side to the Doctor.

Except it's not.

And that's when she's not exactly sure what John Smith is.

There are moments he acts in time with the Doctor. Cool. Collected. Calculating.

Then the next he's tripping over his own words. And she laughs at the stark differences. However sometimes it's nothing humorous at all. How he wields a rifle. Then has a child mirror his movements. Murder the 'enemy' on the 'battleground'.

No one in this era understands why it's wrong. She can't tell _him_ why it's wrong. She knows he thinks it's right. Although that doesn't keep her from trying.

"Know a thing or two about the gun, do you?" Rose asked bitterly, entering his room with the day's meal.

He hummed an affirmative, and began to eat. "It's a skill the young men will find quite handy should the need arise."

"They're children." She stated. "Do they even know the value of a human life to take one? Why do you have to go out there and teach them this? Why can't someone else do it?"

"Rose," his voice was low and dangerous. "That skillset is part of the reason why I have this job now, and I will not discuss my decisions for this position with you."

Rose took a deep breath. "Fine," she responded tightly. "Sod the moral high ground. Your glorious job is so important, far be it for me to judge, _Mister Smith_."

"Yes it is." He replied hotly. "So is yours. So I suggest you _stick to it_."

There are times Rose wishes John Smith acted more like the Doctor. He is his own person, she knows, so why change him? Perhaps for company. His human mind can only comfort her for so long before she longs for familiarity.

It's that line of thought that has her speeding this along. The TARDIS is on emergency power, but Rose visits her religiously. Raiding the libraries for every and anything on the Family of Blood. Maybe some way to track them. Prevent them. Get rid of them early.

Rose doodles notes of important information here and there. Pictures stick to her better than words.

The Family of Blood are incorporeal aliens. No bodies. Greenish-intangible-masses that possess the living to live themselves. For that Rose colored a green marker over the ink dotted outline of a human. Then, feeling satisfied with her description, Rose adds examples off to the side. The Family are short lived without a host, like mayflies or an alien leech, so that's what she depicts. Although poorly in her haste, but she ignores the sloppy lines, cartoon eyes, and moves on.

And two or three weeks of studying aliens who can possess living beings naturally, then one week of distracted curiosity to learn how Cassandra did it on New Earth, had her head spinning. Literally. Rose passed out on the job. Mentally and physically drained, energy drinks now useless against her fatigue, Rose decided to focus more on unwinding. Make the TARDIS her personal playpen, with the occasional book to study here and there. One week of rest, she told herself, then back to her research.

"And twenty three." The Doctor's recording reiterated as she played it on repeat. "If anything goes wrong, if they find us, Rose, then you know what to do. Open the watch."

She paused there, sitting back in the pilots seat. Such a serious message. Couldn't he have smiled at least once? Staring at his 'we're at war' face, didn't do much to lighten her spirits. Maybe she could trick John into wearing a pinstriped suit. Tweed, she decided, doesn't suit him. And if anything, John could learn a thing or two from the Doctor.

...But as John stands gaping inside the TARDIS doors... and she's in a camisole and sweat pants... and that's very much him running away, Rose sort of squashes that thought dead.

* * *

A/N

As I graffiti Bad Wolf wherever possible, I wonder, do those that live in Norway graffiti Dalig Ulv? Is this a thing?

**geogirl2014**: Okay :s thank you for the review! And that adorable little love muffin is none other than Ten. A wild Ten in his natural habitat. Such grace. Such beauty. And if you squint, you'll witness the subtle courtship dance of the Ten as it spots a Rose in the wilderness. -And I am so sorry! That got away from me! XD

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Sweet! Because it's about to take a tumble. As always, thank you for the review!

**Curry**: Yeah, I think a bit more of the Doctor would have bled through if Rose had still been around. And I am incredibly glad you caught that about Rose because -well- this chapter! I'm actually surprised you caught that. Most others would have blown it off as only humor. Keen eye. Thank you for reviewing!

**GriffinGirl8655**: What? Stalk? Follow? Noooo, John doesn't do that! He's just worried about Rose. I mean, look at the way he hides behind that tree so she doesn't notice him. He is concerned for her safety. Yep. I'm sorry, it seems I'm on sarcastic mode today, but hopefully you got the joke xD Thank you for reviewing!


	7. Curiosity and the Cat

"John!"

She's shouting.

That fine, comfortable painting of reality John's always admired has been smeared with a permanent black. And _she's_ shouting.

Visions of man men, immodest dress, and magical machines should remain so. In vision. A pastime of the night. Not real.

But as she caught him by the hand, her face flushed, anxiety in full, John found himself at a standstill.

"John."

"You may not address me as such." He ripped his hand away, and immediately regretted it as she flinched.

"I'm sorry," a frown tugged at her lips, and she's pleading with him. "Come back. Let me explain."

"Explain!?" John bellowed, "my dreams, everything I knew to be playful thought is on full display. Including you! Who are you!?"

Rose cowered beneath him, her eyes darting about the area. And it was then, he realized, she's probably not the least bit frightened by him. Especially when she began pulling his arm, "I'll tell you once we're inside."

John stood unyielding. "You will tell me here."

"One or both of us is going to be thrown into the looney bin, standing out here, shouting about this." Her voice was calm, full of an authority he's never heard from any woman of her status. "Follow me now, Mister Smith."

He moved far from her being. "You have a point." John conceded and reluctantly headed back to that abandoned barn. "However, we shall discuss this on my terms, and I expect detailed answers."

"Ohh," Rose grumbled beneath her breath. "Misogynistic arse."

"I beg your pardon!?" John yelped, outraged. "Where does this language spawn from!?"

Rose stomped past. "Learned it when I met you."

His jaw set, John decided to be the better man, and not continue their bickering. The only sounds between them the crunching of leaves below. The nerve, John thought, she has no right to be upset.

Halfway back to the TARDIS Rose began chewing her thumbnail. Dreams. Rose remembers the times John periodically mentioned the Doctor from dreams. However, dream all he wants, she's fairly certain from the Doctor's recording that John can't remember through natural means. Only when he opens the watch will the Doctor return. So if he wants answers, that's all well and okay, but...

She glanced at him. Shoulders stiff, hands clenched, and fire practically spouting from every step.

...will he accept it?

"What?" He hissed at her staring.

And again she was reminded of how much she actually cared. Rose tossed her hands up, exasperated. "Nothin'!"

Bad move. John's eyes fell to her attire. The faintest blush as he wrinkled his nose. "What **are** you wearing?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sweat pants, an' a camisole, your highness."

"Underthings," he scoffed.

When they reached the barn, Rose allowed John to enter first. Manners, manners, manners. Then, door fixed shut, she rounded on him.

"Underthings, as you so eloquently put it, in this time are far less comfortable. This. _This_ is casual. Besides I wasn't planning on running around ruddy 1913 until you blundered in, and turned-" she grunted in frustration, only just counting off the consequences of his actions. "-my free time into me blowing this whole cover-up! Great! Let's go ahead and ruin the whole thing, why don't we!? Now where—!" realising she had been shouting, Rose paused. Hand midair. Distress from the TARDIS being discovered, work, protecting John, work, research, _everything_ fueled her need to _explode_. _Calm down_. Rose shuffled around, upturned an old bucket, sat atop it, and lowered her volume. "Where do you want to start?"

"If you're quite finished." He muttered, then began, "I demand to know why my minds creation has found itself into the waking world." Unable to hide the tremor in his voice, he pointed at the blue box, and feeling hysterical said, "this is sorcery."

"Um, no," Rose pinched herself to contain a laugh. "An' might want to rearrange that other bit."

John's eyes narrowed. She's making a joke of this all? "Rearrange?"

"Yeah, she's uh, that's the TARDIS," she sounded fond, John's jaw nearly dropped at her apparent insanity. Naming blue boxes? "She's always been real. She's um," Rose squeezed her eyes shut, and snapped her fingers, attempting to retrieve a memory. Her eyes snapped open. "Sintient! Yeah. She's alive. Wouldn't be here and alive ourselves if not for her."

He faltered, face transforming from disbelief to horror. "Ourselves?"

"We were being chased," she stated. Already John could see the tail end of a memory -no- a dream. "They're called the Family. Wanted the Doctor's body to live longer. So, we ran, and the Doctor, he, um, he hid himself."

"The Doctor...?" his mouth felt dry, but he must know. "Who is this physician?"

"Most just say doctor who, but, um..." She chuckled, more nervous than anything else. "He's here." Rose retrieved a fob watch from her pocket, holding it reverently with her fingertips, as she proffered it for him to observe.

"Hmph," he huffed. "You spoke as though his being was of great importance." John snatched it from her. Flipping it over, blinking hard, as he had trouble focusing on the object. "This watch is living? As the box?"

"Guess you could say that. That's the Doctors consciousness." She waved her hand vaguely about. "S'potent, or something. The Family can smell it, but while the watch's closed, he's safely hidden." She licked her dry lips, seeing no other way around this. "His body couldn't be stashed away so easily though, it had to be protected and cared for with um... with an alias... a- a replacement mind..."

"An alias?" His eyebrows shot to his forehead, admiration hitting him despite the circumstances. "A fabricated consciousness to occupy his true form? Are you telling me he is concealed in plain sight?"

Rose bit her lips shut.

When she failed to answer, John's thoughts came to an abrupt halt. He dropped the fob watch as though the cogs burned of lava. Rose scrambled for the precious item, clutching it close as she stood before him.

"No." John hoarsely denied, then returned with a firmer, "**No**."

"I'm sorry," Rose murmured, staring at the ground.

"Y-" the wind knocked out of him from such a discovery. He spoke, dumbfounded, "had you any plans to inform me of..." he tripped over his words mid-rant, unable to say it specifically, "of this!?"

She shook her head, too shamefaced to look at him directly. "This wasn't part of his instructions."

"Instructions!?" He shouted incredulously. "I come with a manual? What am I!?" Now he was hysterical, "a machine!? A toy to wind!?"

"No!" Rose shouted in his defence. Except. She's never thought much of what he is herself. A program? He was created, "The TARDIS made you. Wrote you a backstory. Who you believe you are is who you've always been."

"_Made_," and his words were venom, "is that what I've been to you? A temporary replacement? A mind to occupy the body?" then it dawned on him. "This is why you've always felt distant. You care not for me, but him. The body." John suddenly plucked a pair of rusty sheep shears from the wall. Turning the point with a dangerous look in his eye. "If I were to—"

"NO!" Rose seized the potential weapon from his grasp.

John saw it then. An emotion flickering across her face that not once has shown itself before now. Winter settled early in his heart at the discovery of where hers truly resided. John clenched the fabric at his chest. A heart that is not even his, yet the pain will not vanish. Instead, it taunts him. A fake.

"Nothing about me is real," John spoke, resignation set in his tone.

"No," Rose tried to reason, but even she was grasping at straws . "You're real. You are. But..."

He shook his head. "...but I'm not real to you."

* * *

A/N

Doctor meet Doctor. It somehow reminds me of that scene in Spies Like Us. "Doctor" "Doctor" "Doctor" "Doctor" (can we all just forget that one awkward flirtatious "_Doctor_"?)

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Thank you! Your enthusiasm is always welcome. :D

**Pegasusfeather7**: Really? That's great, thank you! :)

**GriffinGirl8655**: Haha, yep! Glad you liked that. Thank you for the review!


	8. Falling

Nothing ever came to be the same after their encounter in the barn the previous day. Knowing his taste is off a borrowed tongue. Sight through anothers eyes. Touch with a strangers fingers.

All violating when accompanied with the truth.

Yet he couldn't help but feel selfish.

The sensations are his to experience. John is very much alive, despite his circumstances of coming to be, and he refuses to be shadowed by a man -no, alien- called the Doctor.

"Evening, Mister Smith," Rose greeted that morning, breakfast tray in hand.

Well, said experiences are fine, until it comes to her. Rose knows all of the mysteries involving that accursed Doctor. She is the one who put the shadow there. The only other one who can perceive his body is not his own. The one he must either overcome or ignore to live on pretending to have not known of the Doctor. And -really- he can only do one without going mad.

"Evening," he returned. Still coming to grips with his new niche of reality, John wondered how to treat, not only her, but the others. All the real people compared to one imposter. A wolf in sheep's clothing among a flock of pigeons.

"How are you?" John used the expression as a test, and could feel the walls judging him. A panic gripped him. Nervous energy spilling to his legs as he paced the floor. "More importantly, how must I live lying to everyone I know?"

Rose itched her forehead, taking a moment to think. "It's not lying. You've never been lying. You're just doing what you're programmed to do. Be a- a bloke... programme... thing."

"Programme... programme?" John fisted his pajama top. "How do I understand such terminology!? That is another thing; I do not question you as much as I should. How is it I comprehend your... your Wonderland of reality!?" John walked a circle around Rose.

"M'not sure." Rose watched him warily, recognising a man on the edge. "Probably bits of the Doctor projecting onto you."

"You're never sure of anything. Are you not my keeper?"

"For the Doctor, yes. I never planned to be so involved with _your_ life. But I'm your maid. The TARDIS decided what I would be to you, and that's it."

"My life is fabricated," admitting that still felt like a blow to the chest, "and you simply dance around facts I believe to be truth?"

"Yeah." She replied, a hint of defiance. "First thing you did when we met was thank me, your maid, for," she mimicked his voice, "_accompanying me on this trying journey._ I was forced into this life. You were tailored to it. You can live comfortably. You can fit in. Me? I'm an outsider. Yes, I'm dancing around your life. To protect the Doctor, what other choice did I have?"

John backed from her then. Reality a hard slap to the face. Rose is his most trusted maid. A young girl he witnessed blossom into this flower of a woman. Lies. Their companionship has been time under an eye glass. For him years. For her weeks. And the worst part being-

"I have existed no more than a month?" He asked, scarcely believing the words. The knowledge paralyzed him. What he knew, and what he aspired to accomplish crumpled at the feet of how insignificant his span of life has been thus far. What's more is John could not find it within himself to discover a new meaning in this revelation. After all, the further he dug for an acceptance of this, the further he fell. His eyes flew about the room, landing on his dresser. John slid the drawer open, numbly searching its contents, as he fumbled with the buttons of his top. "These matters need not be addressed now. I must... work." Work. Something concrete. Something he need not question.

Rose felt reluctant to leave him in such a mess. His hands shaking, and voice quavering. However, she knew attempting conversation now would only succeed in making John worse.

"Go." he told her absently, already half-dressed. "You've done quite enough." Already feeling useless, it stung that he made the decision for her. So, with a heavy heart she put her hand to the door, and left.

* * *

"Mister Smith, sir, might you wish to start the lesson?" Young Timothy asked. A representative for the rest of the students who knew not what to voice aloud upon the sight of their distraught instructor.

John Smith with his hands folded over one another against his forehead, and eyes closed, hadn't spoken since a 'good morning' he muttered to one of his students as they poured into the room.

Lesson? He must fill their minds full of knowledge. A laughable cause. What knowledge is in John Smith's possession that did not derive from the databanks of a machine? Never truly understood. Never truly taught. One who has not been taught should not be allowed to teach. Perhaps instead the children could download his mind's content. Understand as he has. And then what? There is no imagination in uniform education. John scoffed, his statement is no more accurate than now. He's no imagination to speak of. His wonderful dreams, so terrible, so fantastic. Mere memories ghosting to the façade of someone real.

And for that matter, who is John to the living world? All he's known is a false life. False friends. False identity. Who's to say what he see's now isn't the same? After all his life before Farringham still feels so genuine.

The door banged open. John peered up in time to see Rocastle striding across the room.

"Mister Smith, might I have a word outside?" Rocastle requested.

John nodded then obediently proceeded out the door.

"Am I to believe your pupil?" He harshly whispered in the empty halls, red-faced, not at all hiding his rage.

John blinked. "Sorry?"

He took a deep, anger-shaken breath. "Your pupil, Mister Smith, arrived at my office to inform me his instructor had yet to begin instruction."

John opened and closed his mouth, no excuses falling from his lips. "A thousand apologies, sir."

"No need." Rocastle bit back. "It has been more than an hour of you twiddling your thumbs. I shall tend to your class for the remainder of the day. Return to your quarters at once." He set one hand on the doorknob to leave, then added, "I expected better of you, Mister Smith."

Rocastle did not punctuate his words with a slammed door as he walked inside, instead closing it with expected force. The act stung John. Like surrender, leaving John as a lost cause. Unwanted.

* * *

Rose traced the panels of John's door. He'd been dismissed for the day, no doubt thanks to her. She thought it appropriate to at least fetch him some refreshments. Tea. Normally he loves small things like this on an off day, but does he care to face her at the moment? Even for a simple delivery she worries what else could go wrong. Rose twisted around to lean against the wall outside his room. He could have lived the entire hoax out blissfully unaware. Never knowing he wears a mask. No one can see it anyway. She shouldn't have said anything. Should've lied through her teeth when he stumbled upon the TARDIS at least, convince him it's a dream. Something. Anything but the truth.

Rose lifted her head, back erect.

Sod the possibilities. She was careless. He knows. Now what?

Rose stared at the tray in her hand, the liquid within the mug sloshing with her nervous hand.

It all depends on how he lives with it. The TARDIS created him, surely she foresaw this happening. He'll be reasonable. She only needs him to accept this then continue his content human life. Basically he's always been centered around his work anyway. It'll be fine.

Meanwhile, inside the room John sat slumped against his desk. All the skill of a teacher, yet he could not even do that properly. An automobile with a missing wheel, what use is he? John's focus wanes on the importance of his career as his selfish thoughts swirl around recent news. Therefore John strains to forget the truth. Forget and move on. There is no palpable difference in knowing his origins anyway.

Except it's like breathing.

When constantly aware of it suddenly one cannot do it properly. The force of air coursing through the nose, filling the lungs. Too fast. Too slow. Too difficult to set an even pace. Too difficult to inhale enough. Miniscule nostrils sucking in little sips with every deep breath he takes.

John opened his mouth and gulped in air. And the air escaped as an acid laced laugh.

Not even his body, but he must maintain it. That is his purpose. Not the professor status he has been elevated to. No. He is a caretaker. Why must he worry for more than what others expect of him? Why fret over the details?

A simple answer to a simple question; because it's his life.

Because _he_ wants to teach.

Because _he_ wants to **live**. Nothing more, nothing less.

John deserves so much more, for he never carried a craving for anything extravagant. He aspired to retire old, happy, and married. Maybe even bouncing a grand-baby on his knee. A formula so heartwarmingly uncomplicated his eyes watered at the thought of it possibly being out of his reach. However, that's preposterous, no one can crush his dreams. No one. He will not allow it. With this recycled face he's been given, John dares to feel a greed for normalcy. No fob watches or magical boxes. Only a maid who is no more than she appears, and a career to complete it.

Yet, is the greed even his own? A blue box spun his every tick together. Any thought is not even his own. What's the point in being greedy? What's the point in breaking from his chains, when that is what has been programmed into him? Even the most outlandish retaliation he can imagine to create his own person has been planted into his mind.

John pounded his fists against his desk, items atop it clattering, yet remaining stationary. Not enough. He swiped his arms across the surface. Thin papers fluttering, trinkets angrily pelting the floorboards, delicate glass shattering. Ebbing away his internal struggle with a chaos he can see and understand. The glass was weak, so it shattered. Cause and effect. Easy. So easy, John suddenly wanted to fall and be that glass. It's conflict with the ground lasted for only seconds. Painless compared to what he's battling now.

"John!" Rose stumbled into the room, panic-stricken.

"Rose," he gasped.

She took in the state of his immediate area. "John..." She murmured, set a tray down, then crossed the room to pick at the mess.

John felt a pang of shame that she caught him in the midst of a fit. He kept his gaze trained on the ground. He's aware Rose must feel responsible as his keeper for the emotions he cannot control, on the contrary, he respects that she communicated the truth. She has no reign over how he reacts to it. However the words he hoped would ease her worry cluttered at his gritted teeth. Blame wanted to fire from his mouth. Rose put this on him, but John refused to hurt her for it. Although, it is her fault. He was fine until she coddled blue boxes, and men in watches.

John could feel his muscles pulsing with the urge to paint his room with destruction. For fear of what would happen should she remain in his presence, John left.

Only to have Rose follow.

* * *

A/N

Finals are soon, and I've got quite a bit to wrap up. I say this because my mind's crafty and gifts me a special brand of writers block when I know I have a ton of things that need to be done, so no promises on when the next update will be. Until then, has anyone read The Truth Is by Khatt? Beautiful! Also, I enjoyed Spring Conditions by Strange Charmed. Or if you're a bit risque how about Incurable by rosa acicularis?

**Iron Mikan Frost-Elric-Uzumaki**: Thank you! Love your pen name btw.

**GriffinGirl8655**: Aw, yeah, accepting he's real is going to be a tough pill for John to swallow after this. Thank you for the review!

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Poor John's got it tough. Get's happier for him later though ;) As always, Thanks for reviewing!

**Curry**: Yep, because John being oblivious isn't actually that fun. Thank you for reviewing!

**FRENCH TOAST**: Thank you very much! Haha, French Toast and the one above you is Curry, hmm... food. Interesting. xD I hope you continue to enjoy where this fic is going. :)

**Pegasusfeather7**: Ah, true, but I'm afraid John needs to fall a bit more before Rose can try to pick him up. :) Thank you for reviewing!

**Kl**: Oh hey! Kl! Welcome back! Well... welcome to here? Yes. Welcome! Thanks for that tidbit, identity crisis is a tough idea to work the kinks out on. Hopefully this goes well. And thank you for the review!

(The following two reviews are from chapter 9. Since I compiled chapter 8 &amp; 9 for pacing sake)

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Thank you! I'm glad this is going well. :)

**Kl**: No need to apologise. Any and every bit of help is welcome with open arms. I'm just being childish and tetchy with wishing this fic was a 'no angst' thing, since I've been trying to make at least one fic that doesn't go off a feels cliff somewhere, and is 'aww' all the way through. But this one is definitely angst, so I must thank you for the reference to CAL, because analyzing that is helping. :) Hah, and I'm glad you point out the small development. I threw the last chapter up as a quick 'is anyone still reading?' Which came up positive, so I'm glad. Thank you for reading!


	9. Undisputed Truth

John blustered through the forest with reckless abandon. No sense to avoid any obstacles. Barreling into branches that otherwise could be easily sidestepped. Almost as though welcoming them to claw his clothing and skin.

Rose herself struggled to keep up once he entered the woods. Years of running under her belt, moot in a dress. One too many rips in her clothing later, she debating why chasing him was a good idea. After all, he'd have to return to the school eventually, where else would he go?

But as they stumble into a wide open field, and he rounds on her, Rose decides it might be a little late to turn back now.

"What am I to do now!?" John shouted.

Rose lifted a hand to her ear and glared. "Speaking rationally is a good start."

"Have I ever produced an original thought?" John asked, animosity unflinching. "All I've believed is written in stone. Information hand-fed straight from the secondary source." He threw his arms up. "I'm one big book!"

"Or the internet..."

"Stop that," John sneered.

"What?" Rose raised a brow.

"Using such slang." The word itself did not irk him, but the fact that he understood it.

Rose groaned. "That's not important. Go on, get this out of your system." Rose combed her fingers through her hair, searching for a resolution for his sudden spike in emotion. "You're one big book, yeah, but you've got character, Mister Smith. So what if you can recite my secondary school textbooks. It's who you are that's important."

"And who is that exactly?" He prompted. Eyebrows jumping as she hesitated. "Those novels I'm reciting are who I am. I am tethered to a machines choice. A box determined that I come here now, and even spout these words! I cannot act without a formula. I carry no substance. No importance of a normal human being. I am nothing, Rose. Nothing." John's adam's apple bobbed as he stared Rose down. Admitting such raw thoughts to her of all people. The one who can make or break him left him feeling defenceless. Bare to her most whimsical reaction. And John was in no state to take even the possibility of her silence.

"Never say that," Rose growled, stepping forth, leaving mere inches between them. It's not him, but his face and voice, and the importance of his emotional state washed over, and overwhelmed her all at once. To have put that thought into his head left a power in Rose's fingertips she desperately wanted to scrub off. "You're life holds importance you can't even begin to imagine!"

Suddenly beyond her cloak and dagger presence, John heard the shadow of her words. "For him?"

Two words doused her fire with a look of shock. Realisation, he imagined.

John, once near placation from her rebellion, burned deeper than before. "I am not a person, but a substitute." Beneath his rage, a hint of pleading. "How different am I from him? Do we not share the same face?"

At his pause her voice cracked, "y-your face hasn't changed, but you're not..." Rose floundered her hand in circular motions as if to work thoughts forward. "There are moments you act like him, but... you're not..." She struggled, her own understanding thrown into disarray. At his revelations she found stereotypes of him in her own mind. To right her thoughts now would be too late. Had she ever separated the two? Or coped them into one; treated John Smith as a phase in the Doctor's life. Rose bit her tongue, the guilt eating her heels to flee— give her some time. Come to terms with the idea of him, to help him come to terms himself.

Yet, it seems, time will forever plague the two with inconvenience.

"Am I unique?" He shouted. "Do I differ from him that I am lesser of what he was, or am I something else entirely?" His fists clenched. "Because I remember! I remember life. Waking restless to the day ahead. For the adventures we held. Past roads. To oceans. Despite my whims you've always been beside me, " he wavered. Her chagrin proof of their dissociation that tore John's heart deeper than his being ever could. "Explain. Who am I!? Who. Are. You!?"

That question again. Rose deflated. Watching him pace away, and back. Her eyes brimming with sympathy at a man falling apart.

"Am I to not have the life I've pined for?" His desperate roar constrained by a lump in his throat. "All I've..." His chest heaved. "All I've yearned for-" worn from an attempt to verbally explain, he chose a more direct route...

...and kissed her.

* * *

A/N

It aches my sides still that any attempt to abbreviate using an acronym for this story gives me something just as painfully long: TAMWTDWMHTR.

I'll save you beautiful readers/reviewers/favoriters/followers any excuses and say I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Summer creates the laziest bum out of me. With that said I can make no promises to be timely. The Fall semester picks up in two weeks. Also, I've not written anything concrete during my hiatus. So, please feel free to inform me if any following chapters feel off. I tried (and failed) to complete a jump start fic, so I could reenter my already existing ones with ease. But alas, this one beckons.

Now! A huge THANK YOU to **ElspethMcGillicuddy** whose endeavors to create her fics, has inspired me to pick up my own. Also her Doctor/Rose fix-it called _Once While Calibrating a Trans-Temporal Psychic Beacon Spatio-Locator_ will not disappoint, give it a read!

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Thank you very much for the wish of luck! It helped, just so you know. I passed! :)

**Kl**: Well, I hope you're still reading now! And, yeah, I got a fluff story out of the jump start fic. I think. I'm iffy on posting it though. I know it's not a gem. But I've gotten too far to turn back now! It's going to have the Doctor pitted against Rose as they try to better the other in love, by picking up strangers, and the first to get the stranger to fall in love with them wins. No angst, just fun mishaps.

**Myste-maus**: Thank you! You're lovely for that! Have you seen the two episodes yet? Either way, I aim to make the remainder of this fic deserving of your praise. ^_^

**Guest**: Hopefully you don't mind me calling you Adric. Adric, if you couldn't wait on December 14, 2014, I am deeply sorry that the update has taken almost a year to reach you, if it even has. Really. Terrible sorry.

**AwkwardMoment**: What a splendid anon name. My apologies that you also felt impatience when the wait had been this great. Still, thank you so very much for your kind words!


	10. Tête-à-Tête

Explanation transferred by lip.

Rose put a hand to John's chest, half of fright, then to push away. Gently. Having felt that he used a _gentle_ force to reclaim her.

Although slightly relieved to have a break Rose found the whole situation unfair. With it being reminiscent of a kiss shared when her body had not been her own. Only reversed.

For a second time she held him at bay, drawing herself back for an appropriate distance.

Rose couldn't help but smirk impassively at the familiar trance set upon John Smith's face, and softly told him, "listen. I know what this is. You're trying to sate the fire within you with actions. Let's use words." He appeared to still be coming back to himself, so she went on. "Learned that from Mum trying to rationalize her dramas. Never made sense to me, yelling, screaming, and suddenly a kiss solves it all. Doesn't in the long run. Still. Turns out anger and passion go hand in hand."

"If I must hold this within me a moment more I fear I may no longer be sane." John swooped in. Only to meet Rose's palm snaked between them. He relented, letting go to speak. No longer at top volume, yet fumed nonetheless. "You wish to talk? What more can we understand? I am fake. Yet that is only a start. This world is fake. Who's to say it is not? The people crawling upon its fragile skin; false!"

A bell chimed, small in the distance. The school, Rose remembered. Her short time there: his whole life.

And in all of it, an answer.

"So what," she heard herself saying.

Baffled, John ceased his pace.

"If I told you the TARDIS created me as well—"

"You would be lying."

"—would it make any difference?" He blinked, eyes keen on her implications. She shrugged. "What does it matter if we came into this world naturally or not. We're here. And that's all that matters. Do your origins make you any less capable of teaching those children? You've told me countless times how knowledge would gleam from their eyes," her tone a beseeching awe, "understanding by your hand. The happiness you've felt from that, does it feel any less real than what you're feeling now?"

John loosely shook his head. A rebuttal on the tip of his tongue. "That blue machine..."

"Like I said she gave you history. She didn't tell you how to experience the present. That's you, Mister Smith. You think she planned that you reject your backstory? To make this problematic if the truth unfolded? The TARDIS's sentient, yeah, but I highly doubt she can play god." Her hands dropped to her sides. "You're in control of your emotions, because we sure as hell aren't."

He swiftly exhaled, an almost laugh.

Rose pointed her toe to the ground, confidence building. "Proof of that is, if the TARDIS wanted you here, now, you wouldn't be. Cause she likes me. I hope. Meaning she wouldn't make you as difficult as you've already been."

John managed to look marginally offended, if a bit lethargic. "Difficult?" He asked. "_Me?_"

Rose lightly chuckled. "Yeah, you." Then bit her lip. Turning to Farringham. "Let's head back. No more lies." She offered her hand. "I'll tell all you can stand to hear about who you really were, and you can accept it however you want. Alright?"

John watched her fingers wiggle, a sort of beckoning. To leave here the same as he arrived. Carrying the same burden.

Yet lighter.

Coming to terms with his existence. Learning of what choices are his to make felt cleansing. However, throwing away a past he treasured dearly.

Starting anew.

It's her that tore a hole in the foundation of his soul. Let him fall. It's her that welcomed him back with an open hand as well. For that matter, should he trust her? From the murkiness of a chasm she pushed him into he weighed her offer. The darkness and seclusion suffocating, dimming his focus to her alone. And in that moment, his only thought on how he never wanted to be alone.

The loneliness encompassing John paled as he took her hand.

* * *

Rose wove memories into tales of legend.

A fantastical Doctor who mends the universe.

Creatures of all calibers. Adventures beyond suns, into stardust unimaginable.

And déjà vu underlining every word.

"This Doctor is surely a work of art," John Smith curtly noted into his tea.

"Yeah," Rose agreed, a hint of question in her smile.

Crinkling his brow, John wondered why this did not hit well. Dreams once a puzzle, to know their true meaning, should bubble elation in his chest. So marvelous had this Doctor been... yet...

"Really great hair," Rose gushed, tongue in tooth. "Only got my hands through it twice, mind."

John scoffed. "Is his hair not my own?"

"There's this gel, yeah," Rose explained. "He would style it into this—" her fingers curled into her skirt. "And his _sideburns_."

"_Rose_."

Rose cleared her throat. "Right, um." She examined the clock. "Blimey, is it really so late?"

"I've noticed," he acknowledged. "Time does not null your promise."

"Jenny's sweet," Rose cringed, "no doubt she picked up my afternoon chores. I'll have to thank her."

John's shoulders fell at her spiral of thoughts. Rose's capacity for attention falling short when her precious hours meant for rest are threatened.

"Curfew," he said, "does constrict how much we can discuss. Perhaps we continue tomorrow?"

"Yes," she sighed relief, gathering dishes onto a tray.

John leaned back, fingers drawn together in thought. Amazing. To have heard of the Doctor's outlandish activities and not curled his lip once. In all honesty, the majority of her stories should be disputed. Scandalous as they were. Yet the same way he accepted her peculiar behavior, the Doctor's adventures seemed just as right. Believable as they were, "aliens," he murmured. "Such a concept, passed down in novels. To think them real should be impossible. Yet, by some unexplainable accounts, I know it to be truth."

"That body once was one if it counts." She said, a rueful smile on her lips.

* * *

For two days the breaks Rose gave the TARDIS went to John.

Silently he absorbed her experience of the Doctor. In no particular order she recounted the events. He paid no mind.

Such is who he is as of late. Less sure of himself. More partial to observe than speak. And above all his questions go to her. Even of an opinion. Rose worried if this affected how he handled his students, and checked him regularly in the classroom. A quick peek. Business as usual— aside from a stutter on the occasions he notices her. And Rose hums gleefully through work.

Come their next meet she nibbled a biscuit thinking of what to tell.

John changed that. "May I ask of you?"

"Me?" She laughed him off. "I'm what you see, trust me."

"Please. If only your background." His bright eyes implored her. "I feel I know nothing of you now."

"Alright..." Rose leaned forward, weight on her knees. Uniform days, a lousy job, and incomplete A levels. A short story for a less than memorable part of her life. Dreary to remember, yet it enraptured him all the same.

"Humble beginnings," he said, a grin growing.

She snorted. "As if it's charming."

He smirked, eyes downcast. "As one far from disenchanted from a semblance of normalcy, I'd say yes, it's quite charming."

She tried a smile. "In that case, thank you." Stuffing down another biscuit before her foot could make it in. "Was mostly me an' Mum." She swallowed. "Then I met the Doctor."

"What of your father?" John inquired.

"That's..." The one she grew up without, the one she met, or the parallel? "Complicated."

"Estranged?"

"No, he's dead."

Blunt. Enough so that John reeled. Spilling tea as he pitched forward. "I'm terribly sorry!"

"No, it's fine!" She hastily provided a napkin. As he cleaned, she clarified. From the beginning without her father. Down the line to another universe. John's genuine interest allowing Rose to confide in him personal thoughts amid her recounts.

It left a hole. Thinking of the chances she had to keep Pete in her life, ending like waking from a dream.

Her face carefully blank, John witnessed her near fiction finally come alive. The heartstrings sewn into this piece so much more than another mythical exploit.

John took her hand, and out of a reverie. "Thank you for imparting his treasured memory." A month, weeks, and days after meeting Rose. Today marks the first glimpse of who she really is.

* * *

A/N

I need a tally. Okay so, you ever read a fanfiction where Rose insults the Doctor's driving. This goes back and forth, one mentioning how she missed an entire year. And maybe even the Doctor asking if he'll ever live that down? It's a rehash used so many times. Not that it's necessarily bad, there are clever variations. I've just come to the point that when the tell-tale signs present themselves, and it goes down exactly as I expect, my head reunites with the desk and I _can't_.

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Happy you enjoyed it. Thank you for the review!

**Demonic Host**: True, John's got it tough, but for now that's the worst of it. Haha, and if you want more fuel, I believe the following chapters should suit that nicely. Thank you for reading!


	11. Uncharted

"Tis half-term," John announced.

"It _tis_," Rose sat back on her ankles and dropped a brush, wet hands set on her apron. "Shame the floors haven't caught wind of important calendar dates." She mashed her wrist to her nose as a provisional itch. "What _can_ I help you with, Mister Smith?"

"Headmaster Rocastle said he would honor a tradition held in my household." Arms wrapped round his back, he took wide steps left and right as he spoke. "That half-term be not only for me, but my housemaid as well." Rose's jaw dropped. "Therefore, effective immediately..." He chuckled. "I can't do this, may we depart now?"

"You didn't!" She looked both ways. Whispering intently, "you liar!"

"Was that..." he feigned contemplation, "a memory of tradition, or wishful thinking?" He half shrugged. "Either way, what's done is done."

Rose tossed her brush into the mop bucket and kicked it under the staircase. Then taking John's hand, she dashed up the stairs to his room. Door shut she gave John a hearty embrace.

"You're fantastic!"

"Rose!" Although jittery, he caught her. "You've made a- a scene." Dropping her just as quick. Face an embarrassed red, he could not hide a smile in the presence of hers. "If word spreads.." She bounced giddily from foot to foot. Making it impossible to reprimand her. "Rose." He balked a laugh, trying to sound stern, "please stop."

She went straight to the leather couch. "What to discuss today?"

"A- actually." His sharp consistency —standing up straight, nose high— paired with the occasional nervous speech, is something Rose defines as one of his endearing traits. Finding small things like these, taking such characteristics seriously instead of a parody of the Doctor, is something she has taken up out of respect to his being, and to avoid another row. "I was... was wondering if..." Needlessly John readjusted one of his many frames. "That is, if you wouldn't mind..." right words abandoned him. "that I escort- tag along on a visit to the- your blue box."

Rose tilted her head to the door. "You're sure?"

"Slightly."

* * *

Ever so brave.

Venturing willingly to explore horrible wonders.

John Smith knew this to be no easy task for any man.

The blue box. A magic carpet. The door to other worlds. The TARDIS.

"She'll love to meet you," Rose practically sang, slipping a key from her blouse.

"_She?_" He hissed, huddled up to her shoulder, wide eyes fixed on the windows as if it would allow him a peek inside.

Flick of the wrist, and Rose twirled up the metal ramp inside, as if basking in it's sinister green light. John gaped. The sheer size of it demanded his knees to give in. Denying a desire to swoon, he steeled a foot, and walked inside.

The lights flicked. John ducked, throwing an arm up in defence.

Rose giggled. "S'fine. That's her hello."

"Right," his voice like harsh gravel. "Certainly it's a," carefully John reverted to proper posture, "pleasure." He went to the rail for support, yet felt the spine of a book. Two books clamped on the railing, as if it were a bookmark. On closer inspection, the entire room had been littered with novels.

"Didn't expect company," Rose assorted the books within her immediate area into a pile. "Sorry."

Interested in her reading material, he took up a few. _Incorporeal to Corporal_. _Psychograft: A How to Guide. Vortex Manipulator User Manual_. Nothing recognisable. "What are these?"

"Required reading, research, mild curiosity." She gestured vaguely about the room. "Take your pick."

"The terminology is lost on me. For what purpose do you read?" John took it upon himself to help stack them here and there. "Surely not for leisure."

Rose scoffed. "Heavens no!" She bumped her hip to the console, arms crossed. "The Doctor's got this nasty habit of making plans go right down the gutter, you know, from what I've told you?" Heaving a heavy sigh, he nodded sympathetically. "Not waiting for that to happen this time."

Her resolute tone sent John's heart stuttering. She wishes to fight off the threat? "This," he waved a book at her, catching his breath before hitting it to the console. "This is you strategising?" Smiling disbelief, he advanced on her. "And what army have you assembled?"

"Don't undermine me," she snapped. "There's a big **if** on them appearing at all, which based on our luck, is **when**. He trusted me to protect you." She looked at him down her nose. "'sides you've no idea what I have in store for them."

"Okay." He mimicked her stance. "Enlighten me."

She blinked. "What?"

"I'll admit you possess more skill in the extraterrestrial field. Yet I cannot in good faith let a woman take arms in my stead."

"Tough."

"Quick to quip." He circled the console, proclaiming, "despite my coming to be, I'm assured in my competence as a soldier." He pinched the bridge of his nose at her silent staredown. "Rose, quit being stubborn and trust me."

She circled parallel to him, like a practiced dance. "Not until you trust me."

"Rose."

"No! Since I met him, the Doctor's taken one decision after the next from me. I'll not have you doing the same!" She met him halfway. "You're in this with me, John Smith, or not at all!"

John slammed his hand down on a novel. "Fine!"

Rose dealt a blow to a guide with a force that rivaled his own. "Fine!"

He grabbed the jumpseat, white-knuckled, and sat. "Okay!"

She dropped to the ground, crosslegged, as the grating pinged loudly beneath. "Alright!"

And they read.

* * *

A/N

Went and had a Human Nature rewatch. _Really_ should've done that before I picked this back up. Or before I wrote this at all! Somehow I'd been under the delusion that this took place in the States! Heaven help me... how did that happen... Revisions went to tiny details, nothing big thank goodness. I'm at a loss. Such a crucial detail. I just... I can't... I'll just sulk...

Update. The half term I replaced labor day with is a week long mid-season holiday. I couldn't find the exact date it began, but I found it began in the 19th century, and that's good enough for me!

**NYfan**: Thank you, and you're welcome! I hope the rest of this story continues to live up to your compliment.


	12. Afraid

Dreams.

They aided John in conforming to her lifestyle.

Unexplainably however, acknowledging life in the TARDIS presented unending waves of discomfort.

The Time Rotor wheezed down.

"What's wrong?" Rose caressed a coral panel.

John sunk into a book.

Energy in a burst Rose jumped to her feet. "Be back in a tick."

She went, not to the exit, but another doorway entirely.

"To where?" John twisted to stand.

Rose held up her book to a page depicting— something. "The Family of Blood have a history, apparently, of body bouncing." She turned down the corridor, speaking as if he followed. "They'll be needing one when they arrive in order to function. Something tells me wildlife won't be their first choice."

John watched, alarmed as she disappeared. The bowels of this creature are infinite! Neither his subconscious nor Rose have told him what to expect. But...

Cold hard machinery towered overhead. Casting artificial light as if it were an eye cast over the entire room. John stood within her entire being, this living box, subject to her judgement. His life her pawn. She created him afterall. And for the spite he should have felt that she allowed he live with this burden, all he knew now was fear. Presuming she holds a capacity for kindness, he knew she would not erase him for his resent. But the doubt in what he feels with such solidity kept a nice warm fire of dread alive. This infinite, timeless soul. Never had he felt so small.

A lever snapped and John bolted. Following Rose's voice down various junctions, stopping steps before her to hide his heaving breath.

"—could stay forever, but the Doctor's cabin fever acts up something fierce," she'd been saying.

Dim lighting made John hyperaware of their clanging footsteps from the grating underfoot. The seamlessly unending corridor coupled with uniform doors. And how he could not, for the life of him, remember what turns returned to the entrance. Like the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur. They could walk an eternity.

"H-how do you know where you're going?" He asked, barely hiding the tremor in his voice.

She tapped a finger to her chin. "Intuition?"

He worked his mouth wordlessly.

"TARDIS has this way of telling ya where to go, yeah? Usually she'll rearrange the place, put your destination closer, but she's on emergency power now."

"Talk?" He choked out. "You... _converse_ with her?"

"Not with words," she tossed the thought in her head. "Like... like a feeling..." His displeasure dreadfully blatant, Rose wafted a hand to her side, inviting him to pass. "Why don't you lead the way, Mister Smith."

He threw his hands up. "**No.** No, honestly Rose, no."

"Come on." She elbowed him forward, grinning. "Pick the first door that strikes your fancy."

Out of sheer panic he turned the closest knob, body half in before he retreated. Slamming with such force Rose had to swallow back down her heart.

"Blimey."

"Sorry." John couldn't face her, heart still racing from what the room contained.

Rose turned around, walking while he followed. Two lefts, a right, and the console room blinked in the distance. "Always know my way back," she told him. "Should've told me you were spooked. She's no harm, Mister Smith."

He wouldn't admit to that, instead taking her earlier offer with a confidence he did not feel. "Any door, you said?"

And she nodded. The quest for a door easy enough, although, which to _strike his fancy_? Their consistent design leaving little variety for his choice.

But there, a gothic arch door. Its age something of the 16th century, he turned its handle in piqued fascination.

John checked the room, well aware of how his last encounter went, and cautiously pulled away. Shaking his head. _Was that—?_ Breathless he turned to Rose. His grin answering a question before she asked.

Fearing it might disappear, John pushed the door open.

A museum.

Leaning back for a better view, Rose walked to the first painting in a long line against a pale wall. "For all the museum's he's dragged me to, you think he would've shown this first."

"Rose!" John laughed in awe. "This painting is Leonardo da Vinci's _Medusa Shield!_" The twinkle in his eye unmistakeable, Rose held her breath. "One of his earliest works, said to be missing. Sold by his father to Florentine merchants." He combed a hand through his hair. "On an actual wooden shield! To witness in person this masterpiece— the amount of detail astounds me!" His eyes darted to a pedestal. Hovering over it, all toothy smiles, he suddenly exclaimed, "a handwritten poem!" He glanced up to gauge her excitement, and felt she should be more enticed. "Hans Christian Andersen, Rose, surely you know. Thumbelina, The Little Mermaid, fairy tales! _Here_ is an original hand-written poem— and look! His signature."

Rose did look, unintelligible squiggles meant to be his name that almost put the Doctor to shame.

He bounded away, mile-a-minute rambling, too thrilled to stop. Slouching forward, prodding and lifting all he could. A smile so bright Rose had to turn away. His knowledge, his fascination, _him_.

She exhaled.

It's not him.

Blinking, Rose tilted her head up. Not him, but god, if he didn't just trip her into the growing hole in her heart. All the times she's brushed off wanting to tell the Doctor something, explore this time like the visitors they are, felt frustration trying to understand impossible research without him. Avoiding the idea of him felt akin to ignoring a festering wound.

Rose retreated to the door, hand almost to the doorknob, and it hit her. It's always been this way, hasn't it? Memories aside she's had to look for differences. A little list gathered of who he is apart from the Doctor. Out of respect, she reminded herself. It matters to him, but should it matter to her? What contrasts accidentally appears, compared to what's parallel. And what's parallel... is a lot.

It's not the first time he's changed, she reasoned, if not in face here; other traits. Her first Doctor who spoke in short sentences, compared to her second who left nothing out, compared to Mister Smith who can —apparently— do a bit of both.

He's the Doctor... but different.

_Good different or bad different?_

Rose gently put her head to the door, a small smile as her eyes drifted closed. Whispering a familiar response, "just different."

And maybe that's okay.

Emotions near a cozy midpoint, Rose twisted her back to the door.

Perfectly unaware she no longer followed, John stood under an abstract creation of a painter. An almost sloppy, kid-like creation with uncomfortable proportions.

"Your Doctor has quite the sticky fingers," he turned his body, not head, to her. Properly enchanted.

Rose cleared her throat, pushing off the door to approach. "Dunno." She told him, happy for the clarity in her voice. "I recognize this; Picasso's The Painter. Heard it burned in a plane crash."

"Than he is a rescuer?"

"Relieves time of its masterpieces before their end. Sounds like him."

"Do you suppose any are missing _because_ of him?"

There was a laugh in her voice. "Oh, I _know_."

* * *

A/N

Before anyone asks. That terrible, traumatizing, room John initially entered. You've probably had your guesses, but yeah, it's Jack's.

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Thank you, I'm glad. :)

**Demonic Host**: Suppose it would be that the setting is their playground, and I base facts, and events based on location. Look through history. Thankfully I hadn't planned anything drastic like have them celebrate Thanksgiving. Still, it threw me. ^^; Thank you for reading.

**DoctorWho42**: Ha, DoctorWho42, that rhymes. Thank you for the review! Happy to know you enjoyed that bit. Sorry for the wait, but for your flattery, I dedicate this chapter to you.

**MaidenAlice**: That's brilliant, thank you for reading. I hope you like future chapters as well.


	13. Bookworm

"Fascinating."

Rose nodded graciously. "Thank you."

John sniffed, hands to the labels of his coat as he looked down on it. "Still, a contraption such as this cannot compare to the skill of a soldier."

Rose narrowed her eyes at the floor, resisting the urge to retaliate. Ever the Doctor when he's not, his ideas far outwit her own.

Rose sat hunched over a box in the TARDIS storage. Or Spoliation Area, as the Doctor called it. A small green walled space with metal shelves piled high. All holding the spoils of their travels, boxes included; plastic, paper, wood, anything they could get their hands on. She knew beyond the open doorway across the room, opposite to where they entered, more awaited. But didn't wish to scare John—

"Relying on a complicated tool when I know methods that are tried and true," John huffed.

—however tempting...

"If you knew how it worked," Rose muttered.

"Poppycock!" Ohh, was he asking for a it. "These are hardly weapons for war." He eyed a styrofoam ball resting inside, wrapped in tubes and wire. "A mess at best." He reached for it.

"No!" Rose shouted. He stiffened. "You really don't wanna know what that does."

He clenched his hand, stuffing it into his pocket as he went to the door. "Very well. This is hardly my field."

Excuses.

_Not my field, my expertise, my knowledge._ It's all beyond him, she knew. John gave up on the books days ago. He felt useless, and sprang up defenses when she tried explaining. Already accepting he couldn't understand, and running any chance he got.

Belittling oneself.

A human quality she empathised with well. But he remains in the TARDIS, so that must mean something.

And once standing in his shoes has to mean something as well.

Her thirst to discover once introduced to this new alien world matched how he'd been at the start. Eager for her stories, maybe not verbally, but when he offered her tea out of the blue. Waiting as she sipped to not sway the topic. Leaning forward, hardly blinking, mouth parted when she settled on what to recount. The Doctor, how he brought the best of others. Even her.

Oh.

Maybe it's—

no.

It could be—

Rose slapped her forehead.

Her interest sparked by how easily the Doctor explained it all. Knowing she could learn complexities made simple. And what had she done for John? Nill. A dictionary with an index that took her two other dictionaries to decipher. Answers to his questions with jargon his head tilted to.

John stepped out.

"S'like," Rose started, hesitating when he paused in the hall. Already half-gone. "A..." she motioned her hands to prolong thought. "A... a snare!"

That John understood. Hunting. Basic bloke pastimes. To be sure he asked, "animal traps?"

"Yeah!"

He scoffed. "Like comparing apples to oranges."

"Both fruit," Rose said quickly to explain the rest. "See this." She held it to him. The appearance of a flower, flat like the outline of a forget-me-not. Black, powdered with a color of neon blue. She peeled the flower off, a plain metal bracelet hidden underneath. "The flower's the trap. And this bracelet— some snares have bells, yeah? This bracelet will alert me if the flower is disturbed."

John gently grasped the object. "Fascinating." His rapt attention making the word sincere this time around.

Rose leaned in, tucking her hair behind her ear, observing closely like him, hoping to not break the spell. "That's... really?"

He blinked rapidly. "Yes, well." he handed it back. "How do you plan to use the object?"

"The Family of Blood have sharp noses." Rose spoke through the motions of cleaning up. Habit. If nothing else. "Therefore; bait. Something of the Doctors for them to track and trip this."

John sniffed his wrist, a self evaluation. "I suppose that would make my scent hardly unique."

The color drained from Rose's face. "I... hadn't thought of that."

John's eyebrows sprang to his forehead. He smirked, crossed his arms, and leaned to the doorway. "Rose not thinking something out? Rubbish."

She chuckled despite herself. "Shut up."

"What shall my guardian do?" His hands splayed over his chest. "To protect me? Her charge from bloodhounds?" He cocked his head. "Padded suit. I'm thinking... a fierce bath."

Rose snapped her fingers. "But that's brilliant!"

"What?" he chirped.

"Bloodhounds, tracking dogs! I mean, not that the Family is, but there are survival tips, guides, how to's. I couldn't find anything on escaping the Family's sense of smell, but how do you hide from tracking dogs!?" She skipped merrily into the halls. "Scents! Mask it, deter it, drown it out! There's gotta be something that tells us how!"

* * *

John stood idly by as she stacked books about different breeds of dogs, tracking dogs, living with dogs, Barcelona dogs, dogs, dogs, dogs. Impressively, she wobble out. To the console room.

He understood the muts as much as she. Having once raised a K... canine. He shook his head. What's she to find that he cannot?

Furthermore, she's very keen on species. Specifics. Why not broaden the topic? When pondering scents, odors come to mind.

He pointed his finger to search the spines of some odd books. And the author Gregory sat next to Zen.

What?

Endless rows of novels. A spiral staircase taking it higher. And books covering every inch of wall. Both in messy periodic stacks on the floor, laid upon down on the stairs. No signs to indicate categories in the shelves. Is there any order here?

A tickle on his scalp took John left. He blinked. The sensation stopping upon a catalogue of household supplies from the 2000's.

He flipped through it. Vibrant colors popping off the page, and he shut it. ...okay. He checked again. Supplies he could hardly believe. Window cleaner that made glass _sparkle_. Laundry detergent that removed _blood_.

And his delight lit on the last page.

Eyes glued, he called, "Rooose?"

* * *

"Rose!" John ran past, feverently tracking her down. Book in hand, nose in book, and no clue where he's going. "Rose!" Still as excited he passed in and out the main corridor. Again. "Rose!" And stop. His pitter patter of running ceased. A confused, "Rose?" echoing down the halls.

Rose bit her lower-lip. "Marco!"

And his head popped round the corner, finally looking the correct way. He grinned. "Polo!" He took broad steps to her as his nose returned to the book. "Rose, you must read this!" He plopped into the captain's seat beside her.

"Is that Mum's old mag?"

"Look," he shoved it to her face.

Rose pinched the edge, pulling down. "Sale at Tesco's?"

"Rose," he took tugged the other side closer. "This," and he struggled on the word, "fee-breeze. It eliminates odor! Surely this infinite blue box is stocked with it somewhere!"

Suddenly she laughed disbelief, thinking of the possibilities. "I'd have never..." John's eyes sparkled. All hope. Rose beamed, and threw him into a hug. "You're fantastic, John! Amazing!"

He remained silent till they pulled apart, eyebrows scrunched together, and an amused smile set on his lips.

"Oh." Rose cupped her mouth. "I'm, um, sorry. Mister Smith.."

"No, Rose that's..." He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Fine."

And all at once she couldn't make eye contact. How'd they get so close? She could feel the air escaping him. And, oh yeah, their previously shared kiss hit her with vivid detail. Her face felt far too warm, she knew it showed.

"You sure?" she asked his collarbone. Collarbone? When did he unbutton his suit, and why hadn't she noticed earlier?

"Positive," John's breath tickled her cheek, and she practically fell out of the seat.

"I'm gonna..." Rose took in what she hoped looked like long a casual breath, hand flailing to the hall. "Febreze."

* * *

A/N

Doctor Who tonight! Who else is psyched!? I'm posting this now as celebration, despite my various essays due soon. Haha... but never mind that, Doctor Who! I hear Missy's making a reappearance. Still iffy on her. Also, maybe spoiler, does anyone else think that girl who said "what took you so long, old man?" in the preview is Jenny? Might just be wishful thinking.

**AkumakoRonso**: Your wish is my command. Just be careful what you wish for. If the next chapter is less plot development, and more them goofing off, all blame is on you. Heh. Thank you for reviewing!

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Hah, glad you think so as well. :) Thanks for the review.

****Missfantasyfreak****: THANK YOU for assuming otherwise! That's a bit of Who history to brush up on! I'd no idea, but that's amazing! Thank you so very much for telling me that, because I actually don't know much of the past. Oh wow, I feel like I owe you now. Anything you want? And don't be shy, please, I'm all too glad to spoil you up right now.


	14. One Step Forward

Since when did things change?

She knew John noticed.

His lingering touches. Watchful gaze. Small chances he took.

Thankfully he had the decency to not call her out on the change. Except, he didn't have the decency not to act on it. Those small things he did; she actively avoided.

Accepting him as the Doctor slowly unlocked her perception of him. And emotions. Emotions she failed to noticed until he did that... that thing...

Rose snapped from a daze, focusing on words she wasn't reading. Thankfully John disappeared into the depths of the TARDIS. He explores comfortably now. More inquisitive than apprehensive. Always learning. Learning and applying. A method she could benefit from.

Drawing on past experience John definitely harbors an interest. She knew that. Just never acknowledged it. Never thought she'd entertain the opportunity.

Because it feels like cheating!

Maybe not on the Doctor, but their relationship.

Allowing John the freedom to cross a boundary the Doctor stood adamantly at the border of.

A border that teeters on the edge of a cliff.

And a cliff that, apparently, dug steeper with each new Doctor.

Going back, her first Doctor allowed friendly touches. The occasional heart to heart. Her second; tactile to the bitter core. His words dancing around the truth of what they are. Even blurting pieces of his past, giving her a glimpse of who he once was. Of Gallifrey, his family, his past, him.

And then there's John who's basted, and served himself to her on a silver platter.

Rose laughed into her book imagining it.

But she can't allow it!

Her previous Doctor _will_ return. Unlike the other. It'd be like returning to her first Doctor after all that's happened between her and her second. It's steps they haven't taken together, and he wouldn't appreciate it... or... would he? In a whole, they're all the same man. So...

Rose groaned, a headache knotting between her brows.

That's when the TARDIS sent distress in waves, crashing down, goading Rose to the corridor.

Miffed to have her already addled thoughts interrupted she dropped her book. "Alright!"

Rose made her way with the TARDIS leading, a surprisingly long walk, that ended with a yelp through the crack of an open double door.

She peeked inside. Empty. Plain and clinically white. Except for the large round circles that patterned the walls.

"Rose!" John shouted from above. Like a gangly spider he spread himself against the ceiling, twisting to see her. He squeezed his eyes shut when she grinned, nearly curling into himself. "Please leave..."

Rose sputtered into a laugh. He flailed to right himself.

How the tables have turned.

His assurance in flirting any chance he got, and now this.

She nodded at him, her hair swaying without gravity. "Find the Zero Room alright?"

"I have discovered-" he drifted slowly from the ceiling, alarmed when something solid went out of reach. "N- Neuton could benefit from a fourth law." He attempted something of a dog paddle to keep from flipping upright, but settled on crossing his arms. Pouting as the rotation continued beyond his control.

"Or you could think on his first." She kicked off toward him, bumping into his back, sending them both to the ceiling. Then once she could hook his arm, she catapulted from the ceiling, gliding them back to the door.

Rose used the door handle as leverage to land gracefully. John swung his limbs wide, almost falling into the corridor. He regained composure quick enough.

"For all the items littered onboard this vessel, the lack thereof led me to investigate." He scratched the side of his nose. "You could surmise the rest..."

"I could..." Rose airily responded. She crinkled her nose instead, asking, "peckish?"

In the galley Rose gathered the dry food, not daring to check the refrigerator. Knowing the Doctor's tendency to pick up alien delicacies, something inside could have thawed, and start _crawling out_.

"Cereal, biscuits, dried fruit, protein bars, crisps." She picked the crisps, plopping into the chair while munching them. "Mmm."

"Airtight bags?" John placed his palm flat against the plastic containing dried fruit. "Interesting."

"Try it," she offered some to him. He declined. Entering an alien is not the same as allowing something alien to enter him.

John scoured the cupboards. Finding in the dark back of one a fruit bowl. Full of pears. Aha! This is where they disappear to. He chose the healthiest, gathering it onto a plate, and finding a knife. John set to carve up a snack.

At the sound of it slicing in half Rose snapped to attention. First thinking of what can produce such a noise, and then remembering the pears.

His back to her, covering her view, she blurted, "what are you doing?"

He pinched a slice while turning to lean against the counter. "Scrumptious."

Rose scrambled for him. "Stop!" Instinctively he held it high, the picture of shock as she used his chest for leverage to reach it. A _what is she doing!?_ mantra screaming circles in his head.

Catching glance of his paralyzed state, she slowly peeled off. Starling herself as their faces had been mere centimeters apart. Then smoothing his suit, she pointed at the pear slice. "Don't eat that."

An eyebrow climbed to his forehead. "Why?"

Her shoulders fell. "It's important."

"That's another thing," he rolled his eyes up in thought. "Before, you stole every pear. Never said why. So...?" He arched his head forward, tongue to the roof of his mouth.

"The Doctor asked that I keep you from pears."

"A rule?" He brought it closer to his lips.

Rose leaned in. "Yes."

"Very well." John grabbed her hand, placing the slice in her palm, while rubbing his thumb to her wrist with the other. "Although I'd rather dine on fresh food."

Rose jerked away. Then played it off by gesturing to the doorway. "Th-there are a few choices."

* * *

Down the corridors they defaulted to magnets. Opposites in themselves. John's hand brushing hers. Rose retreating her hand to fiddle with her hair. Emotions muddled. It's like he knew she couldn't make up her mind, to accept him or not, and kept encouraging her to give them a chance.

She glanced at him. His twinkling eyes. And when they met his smile became a full on grin.

_What to do?_

They entered the Green Room. Grander than anything he's encountered, it shadowed the Doctor's love of nature as something the size of what could be a small planet. Trees reached for the sky— an artificial one. Caressed in sunlight that felt genuine, but also akin to holding your arm too close to a lamp. Kaleidoscopic stones decorated the gravel path below. He almost apologised for stepping on them. Then the grass, vibrant and proud, stood at a short uniform length.

Rose wandered off the path up to grab a step ladder. Setting it up, she climbed atop, then reached for a low hanging fruit.

Rose hopped off and offered it to him.

"Apple?" He examined it. "Not an extraterrestrial...anything?"

"Plain old apple."

John bit it. Instantly pleased, he took a bigger bite. Once finished he extracted a few to carry. Two in one arm, and another to eat now. "The one fruit I snack on daily, to the point of being a chore, yet never has it excited my tongue for more."

Rose, daydreaming, shook her head to ask. "I'm sorry. You eat an apple everyday?"

"Yes. Why?"

Rose bit her lips, shook her head, then pointed over her shoulder before excusing herself.

John took to admiring the forest. His heart soaring. A sensation that accompanied his exploration of every new room. Yet never diminishing in quality. For the TARDIS, in its infinite glory, never ceased to test his imagination.

Trees bearing bizarre fruit. Colors he should never think edible; red splashed with a web-like black, greys to whites. Forms both triangular, and amorphous. Impossible. Then those with familiar peaches littered in the branches. Vibrant, plumb, probably delicious if the apple was anything to go by. John's lips watered.

Then through the winding branches, past dotted leaves in the distance, John caught sight of déjà vu. A peek of silver that beckoned. He tentatively approached. A tree not bearing fruit, but leaves of _silver_. He picked one of the many scattered at his feet. It's texture not that of silver, but of a leaf. Veins a similar color, it could be painted, so he tore it. The inside confirmed. But still, silver chlorophyll?

So alien, and yet, John couldn't understand the whisper of sorrow in his chest. An ache that the tree, stolen by its roots, did not belong in this collection —downright storage— of trees.

A leaf clipped free. Fluttering down his line of thought as if to illustrate it understood.

John smiled, his reflection in the leaf of a face that wasn't his. A face carrying burdens beyond that of a simple school teacher. He heard Rose approach. And taking a deep breath he confessed, "sometimes I feel I've forgotten the most important thing..."

Rose debated this moment. There are something's John could do with never learning. And who the Doctor was before her isn't something she's entitled to tell. But not now. Adding mystery to pain, she knew, only hurt. Besides, if nothing else, a name. "It's a Cadonwood tree," she traced her fingers along the trunk.

"Yes," he nodded. "That sounds appropriate."

"It's from the Doctor's..." She paused, watching her finger move over the bumpy texture, only stopping as it dropped into a crevice. "Well, I suppose, _your_ home planet." She half turned to him, locking eyes. How he accepted her words would define how she accepts him. From here on out. "You remember it, don't you John? Or else you wouldn't be under it."

Rose braced herself for the worst.

"Yes," John admitted on a breath. He cast his gaze aside. "Secondhand experience, I'm afraid, is the majority of what I am." He cut a glance at Rose. "The heart especially so."

"Then... if given the choice, does that mean you'd rather have stayed in the dark? Gone on without the Doctor?"

"If given the choice?" he laughed mirthlessly. "Before this all began, if I knew the inner demons it would invite; yes. To escape the turmoil of being a man I am not. A normal life. Love met on a morning street corner... I would ache for no more."

Rose swallowed the guilt bubbling in her throat as she nodded.

He covered her hand against the bark with his, pulling it down so their fingers intertwined. "But at this moment I can't imagine forfeiting my past. For my ties to him thread my ties to you. However challenging you've been. And this." He threw his arm out in a grandiose gesture. "Nestled between horror and wonder, I find myself in the latter daily." His cheeks warmed. With a wide smile he said, "For introducing me to this treasure trove I cannot thank you enough." He gushed. "It's brilliant!"

Rose stared at their joined hands. Shyly she met John's eye. "Don't thank me. Thank the TARDIS."

And she laughed as his head snapped up, shouting to the ceiling as he did. "Thank you!"

* * *

A/N

Story time. I passed out, woke up at 3AM, wasn't going to shower since it got late. But certain... woman things... compelled me. Enter the hall and there's two massive roaches. This forced my hand. I paced, thought on those conquering fear stories, and decided this was not one. Cause I'll deal with it, then still be just as terrified next time. I've got terrible aim with a shoe, so my weapon of choice was a reaching tool. Got my brother up to help. He provided mumbled wedges of moral support. Then told me to drown the suckers in the toilet. After a few tentative attempts I got one sucker by the back and dropped him in. Those suckers can apparently swim. Almost didn't flush in time. The next wasn't so hard. Then when I finally got to actually using the toilet, my mind went "hey, remember those stories about roaches surviving the pipes, crawling back up the drains for revenge?"

I'm not sleeping.

Here's a chapter.

**MirrorFlower and DarkWind**: Sweet! And as always, thank you for the review!

**SkatingWithDragons**: What!? Clara!? WHAAAT SUSAN! I hadn't entertained the possibility. Although, I have thought of The Rani, but she would hardly be so.. cute. Then a very real possibility of her being Romana entered my mind. My friend (new to Who) pondered it being Tentoo and Rose's daughter, I could only smirk. If only she knew how many times fans have conjured that theory up about Clara. Does this magical newspaper of yours mention anything else? No, wait, spoilers- oops, I MEAN thank you for reading! x'D

**AkumakoRonso**: I tried not doing plotty things, it just sorta happened. Like that invasive Kool Aid man on children commercials. I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for reviewing!

**StarsInTheSky**: Aw, ya think? Thank you for leaving a review. I tried for flustered Rose a bit more here, only succeeded so-so probably. Also, DOCTAH WHOOO! I suppose by now it's a few episodes past, but I laughed when the Doctor rolled in on Darvos' chair "admit it, you've all had this exact nightmare." Ooh my, and the last one! When the Doctor left Clara saying he'd save her, I'd replied "yeah, Doctor, but who's gonna save you?" And he flippin did the the thing like the stiffs. How dare you Doctor. HOW DARE HE!

**arynrds**: Delicious? I knew my fic had an aroma of procrastination and regret. But what does it taste like? No, I'm sorry, ignore me xD Oh you're so kind! Thank you so much for that review! My ego is officially purring. As for you're questions, I'm gonna stamp a great fat MAYBE on them. Maybe they'll kiss again. Maybe she'll reciprocate it. Maaaybe they'll succeed. I mean, the genre does beg for certain plot staples.


End file.
